He came across the gravel lot until he stood five feet from my car door.

“The plumber’s coming Monday morning at seven,” Dale said, jerking a thumb at the back wall of the garage.

“That blue paint looks nice on those pine boards,” I said.

“The mechanics needed a real place to sit and eat,” he said.

“Sitting on empty gear oil drums is no good for a man.”

He reached down and adjusted his leather belt buckle, his thumb resting on the brass edge.

“I hired a girl from Spencer to start on the shop books Wednesday,” he said in his low, gravelly voice.